


Five by Five

by damalur



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/pseuds/damalur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Barney and Robin high-five each other after sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five by Five

**Author's Note:**

> This needed to be written.  Seriously.  The idea would not leave me alone, even though I have 23408971 other things on which I really should be working.  Sap alert!  Sap sap sap!  Mush!  Fluff!  (Once upon a time, I was known for writing _dark_ stories...)

** _o1._ **

When she wakes up he's still asleep, which means she has anywhere from the next five seconds to the next three hours to figure out what she's going to say.  “_Barney, that was incredible, are you up for another round_?” has the advantage of being honest, but it's also a little more forward than Robin would like now that the sun's peeking through the curtains; asking Barney to sleep with her again when she's not upset or grateful or whatever she was last night smacks a little too much of a long-term proposition.  Of _commitment_.  She's not trying to alienate Ted _and_ Barney in one fell swoop.

“_You bastard, what did you do to me_?” will exonerate her of any wrongdoing, but that's the thing – _she's_ the one who initiated it.  Begging for him to not tell anyone is starting to sound like a better and better idea.

He rolls over, and she snaps her eyes shut and struggles to control her breathing, which has the ultimate effect of making her heave faster.  Maybe if she pretends to be asleep he'll leave?

There's a movement beside her, and then a light touch on her cheek.  Is he _caressing_ her face?  No no no, this is Barney, there's no way -

He moves away; she can feel him digging his shoulders into the mattress.  No big deal.  She starts timing her breaths, keeping them shallow enough to imitate sleep. _ One one-thousand_, she counts.  _Two one-thousand_.  By the time she reaches _seventy one-thousand_ she admits to herself that he's not going anywhere.

Okay.  She can do this.  She's Robin Scherbatsky, professional reporter.  She's faced down tougher men than this.

_Seventy-one one-thousand.  Seventy-two one-thousand.  _

She cracks an eye open, yawns, stretches an arm, fumbles to check that the sheets are securely up around her breastbone, and rolls to her back.

There's a beat of silence, and then Barney says, “In my experience, the way this normally goes is we lie here for a while, make a little awkward chit-chat...”

“Check,” Robin says.  Oh thank God.  At least she didn't have to be the one to speak first.  And it's a little bit funny, to listen to him outline his morning-after escape plan.  She's willing to bet that he doesn't normally tell women how he's going to run out on them before he does so.

She's half amused and half exasperated when he actually has the temerity to lift the sheet and ogle her breasts one last time before she slips out.  _Doesn't matter_, she tells herself. _ In three, two, one _– her feet hit the ground – _and this never happened_. 

“Now we go back to exactly the way things were before,” she says.  She's not sure if she's telling Barney or herself.

“Okay,” says Barney.  “So...Robin?”

“Yes, Barney?”

“Guess who nailed the chick from Metro News One last night?”  He holds his hand up to her, and wow that's a nice chest he's got there, and _stop it, Robin, this never happened_.

He looks pleased with himself, like a little kid presenting his mother with a bucket of worms, but it makes her feel better that he can joke about it.  If Barney can joke, there's hope that things can really go back to normal.

So she rolls her eyes, but steps forward and lightly slaps his palm anyway.

_ **o2.** _

When she wakes up he's staring at her, his head propped up on one hand and his eyes just inches from her own.  No, _staring_ isn't the right word; he's _gazing_ at her, an intent, oddly vulnerable expression on his face.  He looks like he's trying to memorize her features.

She groans and bats at him.  “Geez, Barney, that's creepy.  Could you maybe, I don't know, get back to your own side of the bed or something?”

He snorts but doesn't move.  “Not what you said last night, Scherbatsky.  What up!”  The words are expected, routine, the sort of thing that Barney Stinson, Ladies' Man, is supposed to say.  They fall flat, though; his tone lacks that extra surge of confidence, that smug glee that usually marks Barney's ridiculous catch-phrases and innuendos.

Robin catches his gaze.  He has very blue eyes, deep set in a handsome face, but when she furrows her brow he looks away.  “Barney?” she asks.  Her voice is hesitant. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “Listen, Scherbatsky.  This isn't going to...to be one of those things that never happened, like last time, is it?”

She sighs.  “I don't know, Barney.  What is this to you?”

“Gosh, Robin, are you asking me to go steady?”  He's striving for flippancy and not quite succeeding.  “I mean, you did show me your Robin Sparkles Christmas special.”

“Maybe I am, Barney,” she says quietly.

“Oh,” he says, and sits up.  “Really?”

“I'm willing to try,” she says.  “I mean, if this isn't just another one-night stand.”  She's surprised that he hasn't bolted yet; she's sure he'll be out of there like a shot when she mentions the R-word.  What ever possessed her to open herself up to Barney like this?  He's attractive, yeah, and pretty much her best friend, and sweet, and funny, and smart, and he goes to the shooting range and shopping with her, but right now she's pretty sure that he was drunk and made a mistake and that's the only reason he ever climbed into bed with her a second time.

But he doesn't look surprised, or panicked, or even particularly disgusted.  Actually, there's an emotion she can't recognize dawning on his face.  He turns his head to her, and then his whole body, planting a hand on either side of her shoulders.

“Robin Scherbatsky,” he says.  “I would love to be in a committed, monogamous relationship with you.”

She's the one who's surprised.  Of all the reactions she anticipated -  “You're serious, aren't you?”

“As serious as Marshall at a burger joint,” he tells her, and leans down.  _He's going to kiss me_, she thinks, _and he's my boyfriend, and he's going to kiss me_.  Somehow it's even better than all the wild, passionate, kinky stuff they did last night.

He exhales against her face, and his lips barely brush hers, and he says, “Hey, Robin.”

“Yes, Barney?” she whispers, her eyes wide, her blood rushing in her ears.

He grins.  “Guess who just nailed my steady girlfriend?”

She gapes.  “Oh my _God_, are you in middle school?”

Barney's laughing too hard to answer her.  His face is all screwed up, and he's roaring with mirth, like he just said the most hilarious thing ever.

So she punches him.  Which turns into a pillow fight, which turns into more sex, which turns into -

Yeah.  It's pretty much awesome.

** _o3._ **

She collapses on his chest, panting and totally spent.  Her whole body is warm and loose, and she's got pleasant tingles shooting up from her toes and jolting through her veins.

Barney chuckles in her ear.  “Did I wear you out, Scherbatsky?  Can you not keep up with the Barninator?”

“If I had the energy to talk, I would tell you how totally lame you are,” she says.  “But I don't.”

He rolls them over and twists her so that they're face to face.  She slides her leg between his and pillows her head on his bicep, and he tugs her closer until their foreheads rest together and their noses brush.  They grin at each other; Robin fights off little spurts of giggles.

“Robin,” Barney murmurs.

“Yeah?” she says.  She figures she must look ridiculous – she's almost certain that she's making _doe eyes_ at him – but the weird thing is that she can't bring herself to care.

“Guess who just nailed the woman I love?”

Robin laughs.  “That would be you, I'm guessing.”

“Of course me.  Is there any other guy around here amazing enough for you?”

“You tell me,” she say, and then suddenly, “You've really been in love with me_ that long_?”

“That long.  True story.”  He shrugs.  “Just don't go spreading it around, okay?  Some of us have a reputation to maintain.  Can't let the world think that Barney Stinson is getting losing his edge.”

“Barney.  You just told me that the best reason to fall in love is because in-love sex is awesome and it makes you – what were your exact words - “

“Come harder than a diamond in an ice storm?”

“ - which first, doesn't even make sense, and second, I'm pretty sure you stole that from_ Talladega Nights_.”

“So?  It's true.”

“Aw, did I wear you out?  Can you not keep up with the Scherbatskinator?”

“_Scherbatskinator_?  Robin.  Seriously.”

“Oh, shut up,” Robin says.  “You love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” Barney says, and threads a hand through her hair in a curiously intimate gesture.  “I do.”

** _o4._ **

“Hey, Stinson,” Barney says.  “Guess who just nailed my wife?  C'mon, hit it!”

“What?  _No_!  We're in the dressing room of the reception hall!  You don't get a high five for that.”  A shudder races down her spine anyway; he called her _Stinson_.  Okay, technically she was now a _Scherbatsky_-Stinson, and she was going by her maiden name on the air, but still -

“Uhh, Robin.”  Barney's eyes meet hers in the mirror; he trails a finger down her bare back and then zips her dress.  “You're the one who pulled me in here.  Besides - “  He smirks.  “You're not looking exactly livid.”  He finishes by pressing a gentle kiss to the base of her neck.

Her face is flushed and there's a suspiciously joyous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but she mock scowls at him anyway.  “You may have a point,” she concedes.  “But this doesn't count.  Our first time as a married couple is going to be in our bed.”

“Maybe not _our_ bed...”

“What?”

“Robin,” Barney says.  “Please.  Do you honestly think that I'm going to let my wife, the hot-shot, globe-trotting reporter, spend her wedding night in New York?”  He flicks his hand and pulls two  tickets out of thin air and then – characteristically – tucks them in her cleavage.

Robin looks down.  “Paris?  _Paris_?”  She launches herself at him; the stool tumbles over and Barney catches her just before she trips on it.

“To start with.  I can't believe Ted didn't let it slip.”

“Barney...”  She kisses him hard and long and arduously.  “Thank you.”

“You know it, Robin.  Now come on – we've got a building full of guests, a six-layer cake, and a flight that departs in three hours.”

“Three hours?  I have to pack!  What about the dog?  My _job_!  We were going to have a working honeymoon!”

“Chill, Robin.  Lily packed for you.  She and Marshall are taking care of the dog.  I talked to your boss already, and we have two hours until the limo picks us up.  Plenty of time to make the rounds and shove cake in each others' faces before we leave.”

“Oh,” Robin says, and considers.  “So does that means there's time for another quickie?”

Barney's eyes widen, and then he backs her against the door.  “You know, Mrs. Stinson,” he says,  “I think there is.”

_ **o5.** _

“Hey, Stinson,” Robin says.  “Guess who just nailed the father of my child?”

“Robin,” Barney says, “I hate to break it to you – you're probably hallucinating from the lack of sex, God knows I have been – but we haven't slept together in _months_.”  Nevertheless, he shifts the snug bundle of baby and pink quilt to one arm and high-fives her.

Robin sighs as she tucks the blankets more securely around her daughter's head.  “That is a shame,” she says, “because the doctor says I can, to quote, 'engage in intercourse' again, but I suppose if you're not interested - “

The next thing she knows the baby is in the crib and Barney has her on the ground and half-way out of her shirt.  “Nursing bra.  Nice,” he says in a low voice.

“What – Barney!  Not here!”  Robin imitates his whisper but not his enthusiasm.

He freezes in the middle of unzipping her pants and looks genuinely puzzled.  “But what if she wakes up and cries?”

Robin rolls her eyes.  “You can't hover over her twenty-four-seven.”

“But...what if she's hungry?  Or she wants to be held, and we're in the other room?  Besides, she's asleep now.  We've probably got thirty minutes tops until she wakes up, and we'll have to be quiet anyway because we don't want to disturb her, and besides, I want sex _now_ \- “

“You know what?” Robin says, and yanks his head down.  “I don't even care.”

Her husband chuckles.  “That's the spirit, Scherbatsky.”  He kisses a line up her throat and stops just below above her lips.  “Love you, you know,” he says.  "Really, really love you."

And know she really does.


End file.
